Their Happy Beginning
by unbrokensaviorwithperfecthair
Summary: In an AU where the Black Fairy didn't cast her curse, Killian and Emma share a quiet moment after the festivities of their wedding. "Emma finally gets what Killian had been saying earlier. She might be damaged, and she might have scars from her past, but she is still fighting for their happy beginning."


A/N: Hello readers! First off, I just want to say that I loved the musical episode and the wedding was amazing. My only complaint is that it felt slightly rushed and that the Black Fairy's Curse hit so soon. So, I decided to write a little something (inspired by the quote below) to fix that. I'm going to pretend the curse hasn't hit yet and Killian and Emma are enjoying a nice relaxing night after their wedding reception.

I've written many stories for Captain Swan, many focusing on Emma, but this will focus a bit more on Killian, which is new for me. That being said, I truly hope I do him justice because I absolutely love him, and any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or its characters. All rights belong to ABC and Adam/Eddy. I am not profiting from this work. However, if you feel so inclined, I won't stop you from paying back my college loans for me.

* * *

 _The sea's only gifts are harsh blows, and occasionally_

 _the chance to feel strong… I also know how important it is in life_

 _not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong. To measure_

 _yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most_

 _ancient of human condition, facing the blind death stone alone,_

 _with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head_

‒ _Jon Krakauer_

* * *

Killian Jones knows what it's like to stare death in the face. He knows what it's like to lose everyone you care about. Hell, he knows what it's like to _actually_ die ‒stabbed through the gut, searing pain, feeling the life drain out of your body‒ _die_. In fact, he's felt the cold hands of death tear his soul from his body three times now, and he can't say he wants to have a fourth go of it. _It's okay, Love_ , he'd told Emma, giving her the slightest of nods ‒permission to run Excalibur through him. She'd simply whimpered, more hot tears falling down her already wet cheeks.

He'd been weak, back then. He'd allowed himself to give in to the darkness, putting Emma and her entire family in danger. And as he had stood in the field, he knew it was a rightful punishment for his actions. Even so, that knowledge didn't make it any easier for him to die. He needed to be strong, though, because he knew Emma couldn't be. Her one act of weakness in Camelot was saving him, and he hadn't been sure she'd be able to let him go this time. So, despite the paralyzing fear of death, of having to face whatever deity would be judging him for his crimes, he'd been strong and helped her do what needed to be done.

After Liam's death and his subsequent mutiny, Killian had considered himself to be strong. After all, he'd survived Neverland, his brother's death, and successfully gained control of the most powerful ship of all the realms. And after his run in with the Crocodile, after he'd lost his love and his hand, he felt even stronger. He was the fearsome Captain Hook; if everyone feared him, then surely he was strong.

He realizes now that he wasn't so strong after all. Not that he's ungrateful for the feeling of strength at the time, because he isn't sure he would have gotten through those 300 years if he hadn't felt strong. Almost losing Emma today nearly cost him his sanity, but she won, she survived.

Not that he really had any doubt.

His Swan is strong, through and through; that much, he knows. He's seen her strength time and time again, and this afternoon was no exception. He just isn't sure if _she_ sees it. She can talk a good game when she wants to but as much as he's seen her strength, he's seen her self-doubt. He would like nothing more than to take it all away, to help her see herself through his eyes.

They're husband and wife now (oh and how weird it is to think the words in his head), and he suddenly feels that with the new titles they have, he should say something profound about what happened today. Something to start their marriage off with a _bang_.

She's sitting at the kitchen counter wearing only one of his white nightshirts. Her legs are tucked under her and the fabric falls to her mid-thigh. He hair is still mussed from their previous activities, and he himself is wearing his boxers and a black t-shirt. Her cup of tea is resting between her hands, though she hasn't taken a sip in quite a while. He steps forward, easing it out of her hands. She blinks and looks up questioningly.

"I suspect it's cold now, Love. I was just going to put it in the small oven to warm it up," he explains with a patient smile.

"Microwave," she replies, lips twitching upward.

"Right, well, you know what I mean," he scratches the back of his ear.

"Thanks," she smiles. He nods and puts the mug on the turntable. He then turns his attention to the keypad and tries to remember which order to press the buttons in. "Three, zero, then start," Emma says.

"Talking phones are easier to use than this contraption," he grumbles, doing as Emma had said. She chuckles lightly, propping one elbow on the table and resting her head on her hand. "You're tired," he says once he's turned back around and takes a good look at her.

"You kept me pretty busy earlier," she smirks.

"I suppose I did," he replies smugly.

"Let me just say, for the record, that I don't usually tire out this quickly. Because _believe me_ , I'd have liked to keep going…"

"You've had a long few weeks," he says. She's quiet for a moment, and the shrill beep of the microwave startles both of them. He carefully removes the mug and places it back down in front of her. "Careful, in case it's hot."

"I will be." She puts a hand on his before moving it to the handle of the mug and slowly bringing it up to her lips. She closes her eyes as the warm liquid slides down her throat.

"I'm proud of you," he says, tucking clump of runaway golden strands behind her ear. She leans her cheek against his hand, seeking comfort; they both know what he's referring to. "Even if I don't approve of your methods, I'm still proud of you for winning today."

"I had to go alone, Killian," she puts the mug down and her hands fall to her lap. Even though he can't see them, he knows she's twisting them together like she always does when she's nervous. "It's not that I didn't trust you to help me, but… if she hurt you…" Emma trails off, knowing she doesn't need to finish the sentence, that she _can't_ finish it.

"I know, Love, it just…" he shrugs slightly, uncharacteristically unable to find the words he's looking for.

"It doesn't make it any easier," she finishes for him, reaching out for his hand.

"No," he agrees quietly. After a few moments, he says, "but I never doubted you. When the final battle comes, if I were a betting man ‒which I'm not anymore after my loss to Blackbeard‒ I'd bet everything I have on you."

"I thought you said he rigged the deck," she grins, but he can see the emotion swimming behind her eyes. This is their _wedding day_ , and she doesn't want to deal with the looming threat of the Black Fairy any more than he does.

"He did," Killian replies slightly indignantly. "I am quite excellent at cards, the idea that that old drunk could beat me without cheating is ludicrous."

"Of course it is," she says in a placating tone. She untangles her hand from his to once again grip the mug and drink.

"I'm serious, Emma," he says quietly but firmly, "I am continuously in awe of your bravery, and strength, and compassion… of your determination… how willing you are to help anyone and everyone. You inspire me to be a better man, and I ‒I can't thank you enough for that. It kills me to see you doubt yourself, because you are bloody incredible, Emma."

She ducks her head, trying to hide behind her hair, but he sneaks a finger under her chin.

"I have spent many years under the false impression that I was strong. I've only just begun to learn what true strength is. But I've also learned that feeling strong is perhaps more important than _being_ strong. Because you _are_ strong, Emma, _so_ strong, but if you don't feel strong, then that strength is practically useless. You need to be able to wield it, Swan. The Black Fairy's magic may be stronger than yours since she's the root of all evil, but she is _not_ stronger than you. _Nobody_ is. I need you to realize that because it's occurred to me that I might not be able to be with you during the final battle to remind you of that."

He swipes his thumb across her cheeks, removing the moisture that has tracked its way down them. It's so easy to proclaim her strength to the villains that threaten her, but here in her and Killian's quiet kitchen? Not so much. Not when he knows all of her vulnerabilities, her secrets, her pain.

She can't quite come up with a full, coherent sentence, so she just laughs self-consciously and mumbles something that vaguely resembles 'yeah'. He shifts her so that he can embrace her, and he rests his chin on top of her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

"I love you so much," she sniffles into his chest.

"I love you too," he replies, still surprised at how easily the words glide out of his mouth (most days he's even more surprised that she actually says the words out loud, first, unprompted).

"When I defeat the Black Fairy, the first thing we're doing is going on a nice, weeklong honeymoon on the Jolly Roger."

He smiles proudly at her declaration. "Aye, so long as Blackbeard hasn't found his way here yet to claim her."

"He cheated, so he technically didn't win, which means the boat is still yours."

" _Ship_ ," he corrects, though he knows that now she just does it to be playful.

"My tea has, um, _reenergized_ me," she smirks, getting up from the stool and taking his hand. "Unless you're tired?"

"I'm a pirate, Swan. It takes a lot to wear me out."

"Good," she says, echoing her words at the town line from before they were separated the first time. She leads him up the stairs, looking back every few seconds to take in his appearance.

When they finally collapse from exhaustion in the early morning light, a tangle of sweaty limbs and short, rapid breaths, she lays quietly as she comes back down to earth. Their house is close enough to the sea that when the bedroom windows are open, they can hear the waves crack onto the shore (which also mean their poor neighbors definitely heard _them_ , and she cringes).

She listens to the waves now, her hand on Killian's chest, moving up and down with each inhale and exhale. She pictures the sea sending waves to the rocks, breaking them down but somehow making them stronger in the process. The soft rocks wear down first, into the tiny grains that cover the shore. The strong, harder rocks remain intact, even if they are chipped and cracked and damaged.

Emma finally gets what Killian had been saying earlier. She might be damaged, and she might have her scars from her past, but she is still standing on her feet, still fighting. Fighting for the future she and Killian have just started… for their happy beginning.


End file.
